


Beautiful Things

by titaniumOvaries



Category: OFF (Game)
Genre: Cute, Dancing, F/F, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Girl Crush, Underage - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2013-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-18 09:05:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titaniumOvaries/pseuds/titaniumOvaries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a young girl, Sucre didn't know what she wanted more: to be a Guardian or to be just like her Holiness, the Queen. Both were ideal.</p><p>"Promise me you'll fill your life with beautiful things," the Queen urged her, and Sucre tried her best to follow the woman's advice. However, she found it terribly hard to come close to being as graceful and beautiful as her ruler. Luckily the Queen's generosity is as endless as her kindness, and she lends a young Sugar a helping hand - or two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful Things

**Author's Note:**

> Anon on the OFF kink meme wanted something written for Sucre/Vader, and I happily delivered. This isn't very shippy, because I aged Sucre down for the sake of breathing life into my headcanons for her, but there's some implied lady crushing.

Author's Note: Well, I pretty much took this prompt and won a race with it. Still though, I'm rather happy with it... it probably wasn't what you expected, but here you go, a Sugar/Vader story, filled with girl crushes, motherly role model Vader, and sweet lady bonding. I hope you like it! C:

-

The little girl with the straw-yellow hair filled her fists with her skirts and bowed to her own image. After her torso was parallel to the ground, she lifted her body slightly, twisting just enough to allow an angle fit for examination. After blowing her bangs out of her eyes, she studied the curtsying girl in the mirror.

Her arms were as straight and unyielding as steel ( _Awkward_ , she thought). Her back was overarching ( _Unfeminine_ ). Her ankles were crossed, putting her off-balance, and since she was already so nervous that her knees were shaking and clanking together, there was little else for her to do than lose control of her body and tumble to the floor, like a marionette with cut strings.

_Ungraceful! ___

____

Immediately a curse word popped up in her mind like a cork off a champagne bottle. _**Bam! ******_and there it was, polluting what should have been a pristine young mind. Normally she would think little of thinking bad thoughts-- she _was_ surrounded by men, after all, and as much as Mr. Enoch tried to keep his little girl pure, she was far from immune to the cursory waggles of Mr. Dedan's forked tongue. Today, however, she brought her fists to her temples with a violent intensity. She sat there, hot, angry, and determined to pound out the ugly thoughts, for today was not a day for ugliness.

Today is beautiful, she reminded herself. She could almost hear that silvery voice again, the winds of a thousand hushed voices tickling her ear as they blew past her.

_"Promise me that you will fill your life with beautiful things."_

Once she was satisfied that she had purified her mind of all filth, she relaxed her fists and peered at herself again. Now her hair was even more of a mess than it was when she first started. It seemed that no matter how much she tried, she would never be graceful enough to even _compare_ to Her Royal Highness, the Queen.

Her heart skipped a beat. Even _thinking_ of Vader Eloha make her feel lightheaded and fuzzy. Cloudy, as though her body would lose all of its meat and bones and lift off the ground into the white skies, floating with the breeze. 

She tugged at her too-long bangs and hissed in frustration. She'd been practicing her curtsies for far too long. Now she just wanted to _run_ , to go wild and chase away the butterflies that seemed to be eating their way out of her stomach. There was just too much energy inside of her, all the time. What would the Queen think when she saw that little Sucre couldn’t even sit still? Sugar considered herself lucky that the first time she had met the Queen was after a long day of romping and playing with Zacharie, leaving her mellow and docile from energy well-spent. It was so long ago that Sucre could barely recall the memory, but in her mind’s eye she could still see the Queen, towering over her like a Titan against the harsh white sky. Squinting against the light, Sucre couldn’t make out any facial features, but there was a silver softness to the face framed by wispy white hair. Standing there and peering up at the Queen, Sucre vowed that someday she would be just like the woman peering before her, smiling at her and telling her to fill her life with beautiful things.

Sucre got to her feet, straightened herself before the mirror, and curtsied again. 

She just needed to practice.

—

“Repeat what I told you.”

“Curtsy, smile but don’t show my teeth, show good table manners, and don’t speak unless spoken to.”

Mr. Enoch nodded and moved his hand near her back, where it hung in the air at least a foot behind her spine. He was always very careful not to hurt her, yet his sparseness with touch throughout Sucre’s childhood had the unintended effect of hurting her developing mind, which evolved a tendency for insecurity and the need to overcompensate in order to curry the affection she was constantly hungry for. At this moment she longed for the comfort of holding onto his big hand, but a desire not to spark his disapproval made her hold her tongue. 

“Well, what are you waiting for?” He wound up irritated with her all the same. “Best not to keep the Queen waiting.”

With hands that suddenly felt thin as paper, Sucre filled her fingers with the soft coral-colored cloth of her best dress and walked down the long, thin, gray hallway to meet the woman of dreams. 

The walk was agonizing. With every _click-clack_ of her shoes against the metal floor her heartbeat thumped even harder. Just as she was wondering if she was going to wind up dead in The Room, the first ten-year-old to ever die of a heart attack, she saw the narrow path widen into a wide platform that had a small black table with an eggshell-blue cloth upon which sat a porcelain tea set. 

Everything she was told would be there was there, everything but the Queen. Perplexed and beginning to worry about being forgotten and thus insignificant in the eyes of another, Sucre quickened her pace and looked around hungrily for some sign of life. All she saw, however, was the beautiful picture on the floor. Sucre found her eyes attracted to the soft blue and purple colors and the strange shapes—it looked almost like a butterfly, but she knew it wasn't so. She examined the floor with a scrutinizing gaze, wondering what the figures carved into the ground were. 

She was so lost in her thoughts that she jumped two feet in the air when she heard behind her “Ah, you have finally arrived!” 

The Queen’s entrance was as silent as a gentle zephyr, and she made no noise when she walked, or rather floated, over to her guest. Lips as black at night turned upwards when she looked down at the little girl before her. 

“I must apologize for keeping you waiting; I had to tuck my child in for his nap. But, oh _my_ , you’ve grown so much since I last saw you. It really is a pleasure seeing what a lovely young lady you’re starting to become.”

Sucre curtsied, and when she didn’t fall she could have cried from happiness. “Thank you, your Majesty.”

“Please take a seat.” And when Sucre did, slowly, carefully, and with her head down, she was met with, “Enoch tells me that you want to become a Guardian; is that true?”

Sucre’s head snapped up and she looked directly at the Queen. Immediately she realized her disrespect and looked down at the tea kettle, but she nursed the observation that the Queen had neither eyes nor a nose. Not even ears, at least not that she could see through thin tendrils of hair white as sugar. Only those smiling ebony lips. That was a precious memory she would keep close to her heart and fold over in her hands when she was alone and there was nobody to talk to her. Or she would treasure it for a rainy day. At any rate the knowledge she shouldn't have had was stuck in her mind and she intended to keep it.

“Yes, your Highness,” she answered, keeping her hands folded in her lap. “When I become older, I want to be a Guardian just like Mr. Enoch, Mr. Japhet and Mr. Dedan.”

Upon an offer of tea Sucre’s shy gaze lifted to hold out her teacup. It felt incredibly strange to have the ruler of all the zones, the highest-ranking person in the world, pour a cup of tea for her, but she didn’t complain, for it also felt strangely nice, pampered even, as though she were being taken care of by a loving mother. Sucre had never met her mother; she doubted she had one. She doubted she had a mother and father; she doubted anyone in this world did.

When she answered the Queen’s inquiry of what she would like in her tea and Sucre eagerly asked for five cubes of sugar, she was rewarded with a gentle shaking of gray shoulders and low laughter the Queen muffled with her hand. Immediately Sucre’s cheeks dusted with bruised vanity, and she looked down again.

“Why is it that you want to become a Guardian?” The Queen asked suddenly, and Sucre’s embarrassment melted into enthusiasm. 

“Because I want to help make the world a better place!” Sugar exclaimed. “I want to spread the joys of my element and make the people’s sadness melt away with sugar.”

The Queen took a long, soundless drink of her tea. When she set down her cup, set her elbows on the table and crossed her fingers with an intense look at her guest, Sucre nervously thought she was going to ask _Your element?_ but the Queen said something quite different. “You think the people are sad?”

“Well—” This caught Sucre off guard. “Yes. I’ve never seen an Elsen smile before. They just have straight faces and they talk about the strangest things, mostly dark and morose things. Things I don’t care to think about,” she admitted. “It’s like they’re plagued by worry and fear.”

The Queen sighed. “That’s because they are,” she said, and her voice was heavy with regret. Not a minute later, her voice hardened and she asked Sucre, almost sternly, why she thought _she_ would be better at making the Elsen happy when all the other Guardians had failed. 

This prodded the young girl into a short period of reflection and deep thought. By now she had become more comfortable with the Queen, coaxed out of shyness by her soothing voice, but this question was too important to not give serious thought. Finally she responded: “Well, because I’m just like sugar,” Sucre replied. “Unlike the other Guardians, that are like metal, smoke and plastic. Those are necessary elements we can’t live without, but sugar is the one element we don’t need to live with but it brings us more pleasure than the other elements combined.” Her eyes flickered upwards, and she hastily added, “In my own opinion, Your Highness.” When she saw that the Queen was still watching her, she continued: “I’m white as sugar and Mr. Enoch and Mr. Japhet have both told me I’m as sweet as it, too. And I’m good at making people happy, just like sugar. I think if I can make Mr. Dedan laugh, I can make a zone full of Elsens happy, too.”

The Queen didn’t say anything, and after the second minute passed Sucre began to panic. She must have said something wrong; she couldn’t tell if she offended the Queen due to her lack of facial features, but the silence unnerved and scared her. Driven by her need for approval and tendencies of overcompensation, she added: “And I would be sure to fill their lives with beautiful things.”

At this the Queen gave a physical response. Her hands loosened their grip and drifted apart and her lips parted with surprise. Sucre was sure she would have blinked if she had eyelashes. Instead the Queen said, in a very pleased voice, _“Oh!”_ and her parted lips formed a wide smile filled with brilliant white teeth. 

She leaned over to pat Sucre’s hand, and the little girl felt lightheaded with joy at her ruler’s touch. “And,” the Queen continued, “have you filled your own life with beautiful things?” Her whispering voice was soft and low, and she spoke with the utmost earnestly.

Desperate to please her Queen and thus keep the soft hand in her own, but at the same time not wanting to lie, Sucre didn’t quite know what to say. 

“As many as I can,” she admitted. “But there aren’t many.” The Queen tilted her head, looking borderline displeased, and Sucre hurriedly added: “I have this beautiful dress and Mr. Enoch gives me sugar, which I think is beautiful, but…I consider things that bring me happiness beautiful, but I love running and I don’t think that’s beautiful. It’s not beautiful so much as a way to get all of my energy out. I need to do it, to move my body, to relieve my excess energy. That’s what Mr. Enoch called it.”

As she said this Sucre looked down, cheeks colored with returned self-consciousness of her own savagery. Yet, when the Queen spoke there was a smile in her gentle voice.

“You can make anything beautiful,” the Queen said in that magnificent, assuring way that was entirely her own. Sucre’s head raised and she looked at the Queen in curiosity, and the Queen brought her other hand to cup Sucre’s. Sitting there, holding hands and sharing warmth with the most holy and powerful person alive, Sucre was first introduced to dancing.

“What’s that?” She asked when asked if she had ever heard of it.

“It’s a beautiful, wonderful way of expressing yourself and relieving your body’s stress,” the Queen said dreamily. “You can dance on your own, but for me the best dancing occurs when you have a partner. Unfortunately I haven’t danced in years…” That last sentence was laced with emotions Sucre was still too young to recognize, but they sounded dark and sad and on instinct she squeezed the exquisite hands in support. 

Another smile was her reward, and Sucre warmed up with pride at making the Queen happy. There truly was no better feeling in the world than making other people happy, she thought. “It seems, though, that now I will dance once again,” the Queen said. She glided out of her chair and urged Sucre to follow, never breaking the holds on their hands. “For the sake of teaching my dearest guest one of the greatest joys I have ever known.”

Hands were rearranged, feet (Sucre’s) were shuffled, and gasps were inhaled. The Queen took her dearest guest’s hand and swept her away. 

Although Sucre was too small to make an ideal partner for the Queen, the ruler’s bottomless grace made their dancing smooth and steady. The first sound the Queen had made, aside from speaking, was the melodic swishing of her snow-white dress as she twirled her partner across the floor. They rocked, spun, sashayed, tiptoed, and did many other wonderful, beautiful things Sucre was too thrilled to think of words for. She soon became overwhelmed by the Queen’s breathless voice filling her ears and driving her to stay in tune with the Queen’s rhythm, to close her eyes and feel their bodies together, and to just let _go_.

They danced for what felt like centuries and seconds. The Queen pulled away  
far too quickly for Sucre’s comfort, at any rate.

“There,” the Queen said, satisfied. “Now your life has been enriched with one more beautiful thing.”

“May we dance some more, please?” Sucre begged, and the Queen took her hand and swept her away to a distant land of beauty and breathless joy, a place that Sucre felt, even then, she would escape to for many years to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Man, I love how, unlike FF.net, AO3 doesn't make you categorize your works into genres. Honestly, I have no idea what I genres I would put this under @_@


End file.
